The Good Guys
by Forge2
Summary: Tonight was the Night. This night it would happen, had to happen. As it had happened before, as it would happen again, and again. And tonight it would happen to the Arab. Lost/ Dexter Crossover


The Moon. The exuberant shining moon. Shining out upon the land, upon concrete streets and winding alleys. Full beautiful wondrous moon whispering its soft salacious sibilant sound, a battle cry a call to arms. From deep inside the answer stirring, the me that was not-me, the cold and silent watcher, the one who came a-calling with its hunger, with the Need. And the Need was strong now, very strong. Coiled, ready, waiting, watching. For weeks now I had felt the murmur slowly growing into the shrieking and the crying. I could feel the hunger gnawing, prodding me to find one, find the next, find him. For six days I had known he was it, he was next. We belonged, he and I, to the Dark Passenger.

Six days of waiting, of watching, of fighting the rising pressure, the growing Need. Six days of planning, of making sure. Not of him, I was sure of him. A chance meeting in a coffee shop, one glance into his eyes and I was sure. No doubts, but I must always be careful, always tidy, always right. And when it was right, take extra time to be sure. It was the Harry way, and for five days I had been busy making sure that everything was just as Harry-right as possible. Because I could not be caught, would not be caught. Not after all our efforts, Harry and I, not when I had a happy little life to protect. It was Time. I would have preferred more time prepare, but He was scheduled to catch a flight in three days. So tonight was the Night. This night it would happen, had to happen. As it had happened before, as it would happen again, and again.

And tonight it would happen to the Arab.

His name was Sayid Jarrah. He was one of the so-called Oceanic Six. Famous for having managed to survive the crash of Oceanic 815. Something of a minor celebrity, my first, and a killer. At least five murders in the past year that I could find. He was efficient, capable. A clean killer, he'd learned his trade in the Republican Guard and learned it well. But for a time it seemed, he'd put his past behind him, until his wife's murder sent him on a spree from one end of the world to the other. I wonder briefly at his motive, but the Passenger doesn't care. The Passenger wants him, Needs him, and will have him.

I followed him to the veterinary clinic half an hour ago. He would come out soon and then he would be mine. A torturer in the Guard, I wondered how many victims would flash before his eyes before I gutted him. The Dark Passenger shivered in delight. The door to the clinic swung open allowing Jarrah to exit. I tensed my muscles coiled, waiting. He glanced around. Could he see me crouching in the dark? No. He had not seen. I watched as he walked cautiously down the street, his eyes alert for danger, but I was ready, waiting. Almost time. I clutched the hypodermic needle tightly. Almost. The Dark Passenger rumbled excitedly. I coiled myself ready to strike and—

Not yet. A couple giggled whispering secrets in each other's ear, as they walked. Jarrah gave them a friendly smile, but they didn't notice, too caught up in themselves. I hadn't seen them, hadn't heard them. But they would have seen me, would never have ignored an abduction right in front of them. It would have been the end of me if not for Luck. I took a deep calming breath. Just a few more seconds. The couple had disappeared into the moonlit night. All was silent, all was still. Just a few more seconds.

NOW.

I sprang into action. Jarrah was an army man. He was fast and strong, but I had the element of surprise. I was dangerous too. The Dark Passenger roared to life. Now at last it was time to feed the hunger, to embrace the need. Jarrah sensed something was wrong and turned reaching for his gun. He was fast, impressively so, but it was too late. Suddenly there was pain. The needle fell from my fingers. Someone behind me? Impossible! I turned just in time to see a baton striking out of the shadows, then all was dark.

***

Dark. I had always felt at home in the dark. It was my time. No one can see what lies beneath, not in the dark. No need for happy-go-lucky Dexter. The other, the Need within could roam free in the dark, hunting prowling, stalking. No fears waited for Dexter in the dark, no dreams. Only the hunt, only the kill, only me and my Dark Passenger. Until now. Where was Luck? My ever-present Luck? How could it abandon me, leave Dexter denied, Dexter detained? The Passenger stirred within uncoiled, ready for action. I am never alone in the dark.

I could feel strength returning. My hands were tightly bound with rope. Jarrah wasn't taking any chances, but Harry; wonderful Harry had trained me well. Escape is never impossible. Escape? No, the Dark Passenger cried in protest. Not escape, revenge. The Arab should have killed me when he had the chance. We could still finish what we started. He would still join me, but one step at a time. I controlled my breathing. Slow, steady sleeping breaths. Feign sleep as long as possible, take stock of my surroundings. I could feel him behind me, my captor, waiting for me to regain consciousness, waiting to ask me questions. Let him wait. Jarrah had been a torturer, but he'd never tortured anyone quite like me. There was no one quite like me, not any more. He thought he was in control, thought he had me where he wanted me. I would have to disabuse him of that notion.

"I know you're awake, Mr. Morgan." The voice came from behind, exactly where I thought he was, but it was not Jarrah. The accent was American. My eyes shot open in surprise. He knew my name. The American knew my name. "You've been busy, haven't you Dexter? Tell me why have you been following Sayid?"

"I'm a fan. The Oceanic Six are a hobby of mine," I answered on autopilot. I needed to know how he knew my name, but I couldn't ask. That's what he wanted me to do. It's all about power. I almost missed that he'd called Jarrah by his first name, interesting.

"Yes, you do have a very interesting hobby, don't you, Dexter? Almost a family tradition."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I answered. Could he know? The Dark Passenger fell silent.

"Of course you do," the voice was light almost friendly, but I knew that tone. I'd used that tone. "A career in law enforcement just like your sister, and your dear old Dad, well adoptive Dad anyway." He circled into view at last. A short middle-aged man, he looked a little out of shape, but I remembered now how swiftly he'd subdued me. He was reading from a folder, his glasses perched almost comically on his nose. He reminded me of a harmless absentminded professor, but then I bring people donuts. "Dexter Morgan: blood spatter analyst for the Miami-Metro Police, adopted son of Harry and Doris Morgan, one sister Debra." He paused and glanced up at me sharply. "Haven't you ever wondered about your family, your…_blood_ family." I flinched ever so slightly. I couldn't help myself. I'd quickly learned that the American used words precisely, as sharp as any knife I'd ever used. "Dexter," he continued, "the youngest son of Joe Driscoll and Laura Moser both deceased. Tell me Dexter, how's Brian these days?" He smiled at me innocently. Dead. I clenched my fist. Dead as you soon will be. The Dark Passenger roared to new life, the Need to cut that smugness off the American's face burned inside, but I was still restrained. I took a deep breath. Must stay collected, must regain control.

"You've done your homework," I said. "I'm flattered you'd take the trouble." I just needed a few more minutes to work my hands free.

"It wasn't nearly so much trouble as you seem to think. You're interesting, you and your brother—the Ice Truck Killer and the Bay Harbor Butcher. Tell me," he removed his glasses and placed them in his pocket. "Does Debra know that the man who almost killed her was your brother?" He paused as if expecting me to rise to he bate, but I understood his game now, and my hands were almost free. "Do you ever imagine what would happen if you told her what her dear brother does in the dark?" I didn't respond. Just a few more seconds. "And what about little Cody, do you think he'll grow up to be just like Daddy, or maybe Astor. They do say the female is more deadly…"

"You stay away from them!" I sprang to my feet. I was free and the Dark Passenger was awake and shrieking in hunger. No one goes near my kids. I could hear my voice, the Dark Passenger's voice, promising pain. The American glanced up. I admired his poker face. Not even a hint of fear or surprise.

"Sit down Dexter," he said calmly. I could easily imagine kings obeying him, simply because he expected them to, because no one would dare disobey. But wasn't talking to anyone, he was talking to the Passenger, Dexter the Avenger unleashed. He had poked and prodded, now he would see what happened when I pushed back.

"You should have killed me," I said tensing to strike. I wondered if he could see me, truly see me, or would that only happen when I had him strapped to my table.

"No," he answered, "the world's much more interesting with you in it. You're special Dexter. Perhaps if things had been different…" A wistful smile flashed across his face, then his eyes hardened. His icy stare caused even the Passenger to hesitate for a moment.

"You're not going to attack me," he said as if we were discussing the weather. "Because you have my word that if you do, then tomorrow morning Lieutenant LaGuerta will find a folder on her desk with incontrovertible proof that she was right about Doakes and a few helpful tips to lead her on the right track. A week or so of good solid detective work and Astor and Cody will have to visit you in jail. Debra won't believe it at first, her very own brother, but she's a cop. In the end the evidence will prove too much, I doubt she'd ever recover. Now. Sit. Down." I sat. Doubting his word never occurred to me.

"What do you want?" It was Dexter the Defeated who asked, Dexter the Disarmed.

"I want you to forget bout Sayid," he said. I nodded. "But other than that, carry on. Believe it or not Dexter, you, me, Sayid we're the good guys." He handed me the folder. "You might want to get rid of that," he suggested. Then without another word he turned and headed for the door.

"Wait!" I called. "What's so important about Jarrah?"

"Careful Dexter," he said. "Curiosity killed the…"

"I'm not a cat."

"No," he agreed. "You have a lot fewer lives."


End file.
